


Tell me we’ll never get used to it

by MichelleMisfit



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: F/F, Future Fic, Gen, M/M, Multi, Parabatai, Parabatai Bond, Parabatai Feels, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-21 15:39:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17645606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MichelleMisfit/pseuds/MichelleMisfit
Summary: They’re the only two people left that know what it’s like to have loved and to have lost a Lightwood.





	Tell me we’ll never get used to it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rutherinahobbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rutherinahobbit/gifts).



> All my love goes to Ruth, who taught me the value of someone who will simply sit with you and hold you, while you cry.

 

 

**Tell me we’ll never get used to it**

They’re having drinks at the Hunter’s Moon.

Of course it isn’t called the Hunter’s Moon anymore. Hasn’t been in forever.

Ownership of the bar has always been a bit of a mystery and no one asked too many questions when the old sign was taken down and replaced with one proudly proclaiming _The Wolf Den_. Magnus had noted with some satisfaction that it must have remained in werewolf hands and more importantly that it remained a bar. And then promptly proceeded to continue calling it the Hunter’s Moon.

Five decades later he’s still calling it the Hunter’s Moon. If he remains in the Brooklyn area - and he’s got no intention of moving any time soon - he thinks he’ll still be calling it that in another century’s time. What’s in a name, right?

Then again, there’s a reason they’re drinking here, and it’s not because of the cheap drinks or the good service.

Magnus looks across the table at Simon who is swirling the blood around his wineglass, as if it’s expensive merlot that needs to breathe, and he feels the corner of his lip twitch upwards.

Simon has mellowed out over the last few decades. Magnus thinks back to the early days of their acquaintance and tries to picture Simon sitting anywhere in comfortable silence for more than 5 minutes and comes up blank. Though it might be the overall mood of the evening, as Simon certainly still knows how to talk a million miles an hour and has no difficulty filling a silence most of the time. Whether people want him to or not. It’s something Magnus has always been fond of.

Magnus cranes his head to look at where the pool table used to be. It’s not in the same place anymore of course. It was replaced when arcade games made their second comeback. Or was it the third? It’s easy to lose track of _retro_ when you were there for the original. The games didn’t last long that time round, and when they were sold off it was a chance to repaint, then to replace the carpet in that corner and install secluded booths. So when the owner came to the realisation that pool never goes out of style in a bar, a new table was brought in, but it’s now over by the front door. All they had to do was move a couple of the smaller tables and chairs, which didn’t involve dismantling anything. It was the cheapest way of doing it. It made sense.

It’s a _stupid_ place to put a pool table.

It means you can’t focus on your game, as every time someone enters the bar or leaves for the night or goes outside for a quick smoke, you have to stop playing. Wait until they’re done messing around with their coats and saying their goodbyes. And if you don’t notice someone opening the door you may be bent over the table when a gust of cold wind hits the small of your back and ruins your shot. There’s no way to seriously play the game like this.

 _Which is the_ only _reason why you’ve stopped playing pool in this particular bar, right?_

The voice inside Magnus’ head sounds like _him_.

Magnus doesn’t remember when it changed from sounding like Ragnor, to sounding like Alec. It probably happened more gradually than he assumes it did, when he stops to think about it, but the voice that calls him out when he’s lying to himself is definitely Alec now.

It makes him nostalgic, rather than tearful, the way it did when he first realised.

There’s been a lot of loss in Magnus’ life and it never gets easy. Of course it doesn’t. But time does heal all wounds. Well, maybe not _heal_ , he thinks. That doesn’t sound right. But it softens them. Like water patiently wearing down the jagged edges of broken glass to something smooth. Something beautiful that you may pick up during a walk on the beach, turn around in your hand, running your fingers over the edges and marvelling at how, despite knowing it’s broken glass, it doesn’t cut you. You may subconsciously put it in your coat pocket while you walk, forget about it and find it a few days later, when you’re looking for your wallet or keys and you go to throw it away but you can’t quite bring yourself to do it. Instead you place it on the window sill where it will catch the light of the sun as it dips low on the horizon in the early evenings, and whenever it catches your eye it makes you remember that day and smile just a little.

That’s what remembering Alec feels like now.

“It’s gonna be fifty years next Spring.” Simon says quietly and when Magnus looks up, Simon’s already looking at him, his glass now empty. “Does that seem as crazy to you, as it does to me?”

He’s talking about Isabelle. She died a long time before Alec did. Later than she had any right to, considering she was an active Shadowhunter but earlier than she deserved. Earlier than any of them deserved to lose this wonderful woman from their lives. She was in her mid-fifties and no matter what anyone said, she simply refused any of the solely institute based jobs Alec tried to give her. Alec had been in charge of running the institute, had changed the Clave beyond anything even Magnus in his wildest dreams could have believed possible, had done a lot of good in the world and he hadn’t achieve all of this by being soft on others. But Isabelle always had her own mind and she’d always been Alec’s weak spot. She was always more reckless than either of her brothers. And god she was stubborn. They both were. It’s what Magnus loved about them. It’s what Simon loved about them.

“Anniversaries are a strange beast.” Magnus acknowledges. “And the older you get, the more of them you have.”

A young werewolf girl brings over a fresh glass of blood, placing it in front of Magnus and a gin martini that she puts in front of Simon. She hesitates, then reaches down to slide the glasses across the table to sit at opposite ends from where she’d put them originally, a blush crawling up her neck. Magnus inclines his head in thanks, a kind smile on his face, while Simon says jokingly “The blood here is good, maybe you should give it a go Magnus?” winking at the girl, who smiles bashfully.

“What’s your name?” Simon asks and the girl straightens her shoulders.

“Claire.” she says and looks taken aback when Simon holds out his hand to shake hers.

 “Simon Lewis. Nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure.” Claire says, smiling at Simon and glancing at Magnus out of the corner of her eye, before collecting their empty glasses and hurrying back to the bar.

She’s new, but has clearly been told about Magnus’ standing tab and general rule to not let glasses go empty for any longer than necessary, for him or the people he is with. Of course, everyone knows who they both are. The notorious Magnus Bane and the Daylighter. Magnus can’t remember the last time he met someone who didn’t know them, at least by reputation. But of course, Simon would formally introduce himself. Magnus looks after the girl and fondly remembers a head full of bouncing curls and a sharp tongue that allowed for no nonsense on her watch. It’s what you need if you’re going to be that pretty around this many drunk people. He’s sure Claire will get there.

Simon’s laugh startles Magnus out of his thoughts of the past and draws his gaze back to him, an eyebrow raised in question. Simon is shaking his head at himself.

“I just remembered that I tried the James Bond thing with Isabelle when I first met her. Lewis. Simon Lewis. Except I did it all wrong and then I had to stop to explain the whole two first names thing and I’d only just learnt about the demons and the nephilim and god they were so intimidating! Not that I was ever going to tell them that but I think they knew anyway and I panicked and... I was such a goof back then!”

“Don’t kid yourself, Simon! You’re still a goof now.” Magnus says, taking a sip from his drink as Simon rolls his eyes at him. Magnus lets the liquid roll over his tongue for a second and thinks that maybe it’s time to go back to vodka martinis. He stops himself from thinking on it further. Now’s not the time.

 “Oh, as if you’re as smooth as you’d like people to think you are…”

Magnus sputters, as Simon continues undeterred, a sly grin on his face “Alec told me about the meat pun, you know?” and Magnus’ brow creases in confusion.

“What exactly did Alec tell you about… meat?” Magnus finishes carefully, remembering the year Alec had come across a mundane celebration called Steak and Blowjob Day. There had been incredulity at first, some derogatory things said about mundanes, and how oblivious they were to the world around them, and how is coming up with stuff like _this_ how they spend their time? Though once Alec had finished his rant, it hadn’t taken Magnus very long to convince him that maybe the mundanes were on to something, because _this_ was a perfect way to spend their time, if you asked him. After that day, Magnus had adapted his cure for magic depletion, delaying the bath part until later to incorporate other elements. Sometimes they’d simply combined them. Though Magnus wasn’t particularly fond of soap bubbles up his nose.

“He said it was when you first met.” Simon continues, oblivious to where Magnus’ mind had wandered off to. “When Valentine sent his men after the warlocks. You fought together I think? And you killed a circle member, after Alec shot him.”

Magnus’ eyes widen as he realises what Simon is talking about.

“Oh... That...”

Unsure how to get out of this discussion, Magnus stalls. “Why would Alexander tell you about that? We had a firm agreement to never speak of that to anyone. Especially people who may or may not remember such things for _ever_!”

Simon smacks his lips, satisfied with himself.

“Dunno. It was after one of the downworld councils you couldn’t attend, because you were halfway across the world, doing something or other.” Magnus doesn’t even try to explain how he’s sure that it was something terribly important. He has never heard this story before, so he simply lets Simon continue. “We’d been trying to draw up new travel laws for entering alternate dimensions and the Seelie stand in they sent after Meliorn’s death was being such an ass You remember him, right? He was only there for maybe three meetings, and yet he made things as difficult as they could possibly be made. As if us winning the war with the Seelie’s help just a few months before wasn’t enough prove to him that we were stronger together!”

Magnus smiles at Simon’s outrage and at the fact that he says ‘us’. Us winning the war. He knows that Simon means the shadowhunters because becoming a vampire never really changed Simon. Not in the ways that mattered. Even after he started representing the New York vampires on the downworld council, his life was inseparably interwoven with Clary and therefore the shadowhunters too. Just as Magnus’ was by that point. It’s why they all fought so hard for all the factions of the downworld to come together, and why they ultimately managed, Magnus thinks. Shadowhunters that were friends, lovers, brothers in law. Werewolves that were fathers and husbands. Warlocks that weren’t simply looked at as resources but as skilled allies and keepers of knowledge that none of the Clave’s records could equal. Vampires that were loyal and trusted and loved. And seelies that occasionally managed to get their heads out of their asses long enough to fight the war that needed to be fought, for all their sakes. Seelies that gave their lives to the cause.

Or maybe Magnus is wrong. Maybe Simon doesn’t default to shadowhunters. Maybe Simon says ‘us’ because he never differentiated in the first place. He’d always been more open minded than many of their group, including Magnus himself. Simon never understood why being a vampire should stop him being friends with shadowhunters, werewolves, seelies. Even mundanes, though he did learn about the heart break this brought the hard way. He suffered, but he didn’t let it break him. It’s something Magnus has always admired in him. Then again, he has almost 400 years on Simon and only a fraction of them were lived in a world where acceptance has started to outweigh prejudice, so he thinks he can be forgiven for falling into his old ways every now and again.

“Anyway. Doesn’t matter. You were off somewhere and Izzy was out on a mission and for once Alec didn’t have a million things left to do, but he did have some bourbon in his office that he said could do with being got rid of. And after an evening spent with that seelie, clearly I became infinitely more tolerable in his eyes...” Simon laughs and Magnus chuckles along. Alec had been fond of Simon and they both know it, but old habits die hard.

“So you got drunk and he just told you?”

“Pretty much. Except we didn’t really get drunk and I had to sit through an hour of ranting about the council and how he was worried things would just go right back to how they used to be, now that the immediate crisis had been averted and people felt safe again. Bigger picture thinking, long term investment in a combined future, and all that. You know how he used to get.”

Magnus nods. He remembers. He remembers everything.

“But yeah, eventually he mellowed out and long story short, I learnt that your first words to Alec were ‘medium rare’.” Simon laughs, “And here I thought you had class, Magnus.”

“Well… You do remember what he looked like back then, right? Can you really blame me, two first names?”

Simon lifts his glass in a toast and nods in acknowledgement.

“I really can’t, no. He was beautiful. They both were.” And after a brief moment Simon asks, “How did we ever get so lucky?”

Simon is smiling, and Magnus knows he means it. Immortality isn’t the gift that people often think it is. It’s terrifying when you first realise that you really have stopped ageing. Really won’t get sick. Really are going to live forever. Really are going to lose everything. It’s why so many immortals Magnus has known have only ever kept immortal company. They think it makes things easier. And for a while it does. Magnus has gone through periods of his life where he has preferred the company of immortals himself.

But he has learned the value of things that are ephemeral. They remind you that life needs to be lived and cherished, not passively observed. It’s why the Seelies have always been the most difficult ones to get on board with any of their plans over the years. They live in their realm, shut off from all mortal things, and they think they’ve got the world all figured out, when really they are forgetting how to live in it at all. Magnus may have some residual contempt for Seelies and their games. He’s lived a long time and he has a long memory and spite never goes out of fashion.

But that’s not what tonight is about.

“What do you miss most about her?”

It’s blunt, like ripping off a Band-Aid. They hadn’t met up tonight specifically to reminisce, but it’s clearly where the evening is going, so why not? Magnus makes a habit of observing anniversaries, but he doesn’t do anything special for them. He likes to remember his loved ones when it feels right, not when a date on a calendar tells him he must. Which means that sometimes a drink with a friend turns into a trip down memory lane, and he’s okay with that.

“Ah man. What don’t I miss about her?” Simon says enthusiastically. Clearly Simon’s okay with the turn the evening has taken, too. “I miss her intelligence and her stubbornness. How she always thought she was right, and how she usually _was_ right. I hated that! It made arguing with her almost impossible. And the few times she realised she wasn’t right she would just keep going, charge ahead and try to get to a point where she would be right again.”

He stops to take a sip from his glass.

“She changed over the years. Stopped longer to assess a situation, rather than rushing into things head first. She learnt how to ask for help. How to accept it. It’s really what brought us together in the end. Needing help.”

Magnus nods, remembering how broken Simon had been after what happened with Heidi, with his family, with Clary and Jonathan. It had been a rough time for all of them and Isabelle had been there for Simon through all of it. The way Alec had been for Magnus.

Magnus rubs his fingers together, letting a spark of blue magic dance across the tips, remembering a time when he couldn’t. Asking for help had never been his strength, but he supposed he has changed over the years, too. It’s just that after living for almost 500 of them, change is more gradual and harder to notice in yourself.

“Sometimes I’ll walk past someone in the street that smells like her. Not her shampoo or perfume, but the way she would smell when she came back from a mission. Maybe it’s a vampire thing. I sometimes look at photographs or stupid little videos we took on our phones because I worry that I’ll forget what she looked like. Which is silly, because there’s hundreds of photographs of her. Of course I’m not going to forget, right? But those moments make me realise that I still remember what she _smelt_ like.”

It’s clear that Simon hasn’t stopped to think that Magnus loved and lost people before the invention of photography. There’s many people in his life who he tries not to think about very often. Not because remembering the colour of their eyes or the exact shape of their smile brings back painful memories, but because it brings back no memories at all.  

Being immortal isn’t easier now, but it’s technologically more advanced, and he envies Simon for never having had to go through the realisation that he cannot recall a face, and therefore will simply never see it again.

“And I miss her legs!” Simon exclaims, and Magnus is startled out of his morose thoughts.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s shallow, but I do! I loved her legs. And her eyes. And her hair. Even though it got everywhere!” He moves his arm to indicate the whole room and Magnus rolls his eyes at the dramatics. “Seriously, everywhere! It’s not something you had to put up with, with Alec, so you don’t get to make that face. But yeah, I miss her legs.”

Magnus chuckles.

“There was a girl I met in a club a few years after Izzy died. I only started talking to her because I noticed how her legs looked in the leather pants she was wearing. I watched her dance and she reminded me so much of Isabelle I couldn’t help but go and talk to her. And then I realised what I was doing. And I felt awful.”

“Isabelle wouldn’t have minded.” Magnus protests. “She would have wanted you- “

“I know that!” Simon interrupts gently and he sounds like he does. “But I minded. It was the first time I even looked at another person after, and it felt like I was… letting her go, in a way. Surely you understand?”

Magnus looks at the martini glass in front of him. The _gin_ martini he insists on ordering whenever he comes to the Hunter’s Moon. Yeah, he understands.

They’re quiet for a bit. Magnus trying to decide whether he wants to say what he is thinking about out loud. He’s never articulated the thoughts he’s mulling over at the moment and he’s not sure if he really believes them to be true or not. He thinks of Alec and his blunt honesty. How he seemed incapable of not saying what was going through his head, especially when it came to relationships. It was as if once he decided to be honest about who he was, there wasn’t any going back from that honesty for him. Magnus had got better with it over the years. Alec’s honesty rubbing off on him in a way. It’s something he’s tried to carry on, in _his_ memory.

“I used to wonder if it should be easier for me. That I could purposefully avoid moments like that, by avoiding people with the same hair colour, the same built, the same type.” He pauses. “The same gender.”

“I’ve looked at boys.” Simon admits easily and Magnus glances at him, surprised.

“How did that work out for you?”

Simon shrugs. “Some of them have got great legs, too.”

That startles a laugh out of Magnus and Simon grins at him.

When he’s stopped chuckling, Magnus continues.

“I realised that I am always going to come across a person or a thing that reminds me of someone I’ve loved. Someone I’ve lost. Walking past a bakery that’s selling their favourite pie or watching a movie and thinking _they would have laughed at this joke_. The way someone speaks, the way they carry themselves, the way they brush their hair behind their ears or tug on their shirt sleeves when they’re nervous. Looks are just the obvious thing. I’m sure you’ve found that there are hundreds of tiny things in this world that remind you of Isabelle, other than great legs? I know there’s half a dozen things every week that make me think of Alexander.”

Simon’s face has become serious while Magnus was talking.

“Did you and Alec ever talk about it?”

Magnus lifts a questioning eyebrow, unsure what exactly Simon means and unwilling to guess.

“About what would happen… when he… what you would do… after?” Simon finishes with a vague hand gesture.

It should be a difficult question. It caused more than its fair share of arguments. While it may not have directly caused their brief separation at the start of their relationship, it was an underlying factor in it. They didn’t talk about their differences at first, and after they got back together it took Alec some time to accept that it wasn’t something that could be fixed by either of them. No amount of fighting, crying, fucking, and fighting again was ever going to change who they were. Magnus had known that from the start. He had gone through it before.

When he first pursued Alec he hadn’t thought about putting himself out there again. He had looked at that beautiful boy and wanted him. It was as simple as that. But simple never lasts, and Magnus should have known better.

When Alec walked away from his own wedding, he chose to put himself above his duty. When Alec stopped on his way out of Magnus’ loft after their first date and came back to him, he chose Magnus. When Alec decided to lay it all out on the line in the alley behind this very bar, he chose their future.

Back when they thought Jonathan was dead, that everyone had come through it all unharmed, they all took a moment to breathe and allowed themselves to think about more than just getting through the next couple of hours, the next few days. Allowed themselves to think about a future they could suddenly envisage. And Alec saw the two of them. Despite everything that had happened, Alec couldn’t imagine a future without Magnus.

Of course, that glimpse of a bright horizon hadn’t lasted long, as Simon well knows. They’d both lost people in the years that followed. Too many of them.

To everyone’s surprise, it wasn’t Jace who’d gone first. It should have been. By every logic in the universe, it should have been. Unlike Simon, Magnus thinks, Jace never mellowed. Being with Clary helped him find his centre, but it didn’t stop him rushing head first into danger at every opportunity and asking questions later. Or not at all, because he never really cared about the answers. And yet, it was Clary who was fatally wounded on a mission and bled out before anyone could get to her.

Jace was never the same after that.

It was a difficult time for Magnus, and even just that fleeting thought makes him cringe. He loved Clary. He intrinsically understood anyone who came from nothing and built themselves into the person they wanted to be. Changed who they were, and changed the people and the world around them while they were doing it. And Clary had done that. Clary changed all their lives. He had loved her, and he missed her, but how dare Magnus think that Clary’s death had been a difficult time for _him_?

He glances at Simon, who is sipping his blood and patiently waiting for an answer.

Simon had lost his best friend. Isabelle the sister she never thoughts she’d have. Jace had lost the love of his life. And Alec had tried to keep things from falling apart, while everyone else grieved.

As much as Magnus had grown to tolerate Jace over the years, even liked him on good days; as much as he sympathised with the proverbial demons Jace was battling every day, while fighting the real ones; as much as he understood and wished he could address the depression that clouded much of Jace’s life, a small part of him couldn’t help but look at the parabatai bond and think that Alec’s life would have been so much easier, if he hadn’t bound his soul to such a turbulent partner.

Loving someone heart and soul, when part of their soul belonged to someone else wasn’t easy to navigate, and Magnus often felt selfish. Felt the need to go out of his way to be understanding, not just of Alec, but of Jace. Of the time they needed together, and of the part of Alec that Jace shared, that Magnus could never have.

It wasn’t that he was jealous of not having all of Alec. There are always parts of a person that aren’t yours. Other people you have to share them with. A past that you weren’t privy to. And all you can hope for, is that they want to be your present, and, if you are very lucky, your future.

Feeling helpless has always been the thing that Magnus struggles with the most. He’s good at problem solving. Figuring things out. Helping people. Researching and finding answers. He’s always been a whirlwind of activity in a crisis, because if you stand still for too long, your problems will catch up with you.

But when it came to the parabatai bond, he hadn’t known what questions to ask, what books to read, what riddles to solve. All he’d been able to do was be there for Alec, while Alec was there for Jace. And tried to accept that sometimes you don’t need to be able to offer all the answers, you just need to listen. So he had.

He’d let Alec go through his grief for losing Clary - on a mission _he_ sent her on, a mission that should have been better reconned, should have been better planned, should have been better equipped - by letting him play it off as Jace’s grief.

He’d waited up late as Jace dragged himself in and out of every bar in New York, and Alec followed him; to be a drinking buddy, a shoulder to cry on, should he want it. Tried to stop Jace from picking fights with strangers, and was Jace’s back up, when he inevitably didn’t manage. He’d gotten up to make coffee every night Alec brought Jace back to their loft, wrestled him out of his clothes, and into the bed in the spare room. He’d listened as Alec recited all the ways in which he should have prevented Clary’s death, could have prevented Jace’s suffering. And patiently repeated all of the reasons as to why Alec wasn’t to blame.

Eventually, after weeks of late nights at the institute, and later nights at seedy New York bars, after Jace had passed out, and Alec had exhausted himself talking and finally fallen asleep, Magnus had lain awake, wondering how long they could keep this up, without putting themselves at risk the next time they went out on a mission on not enough sleep and too much sorrow.

Magnus doesn’t know how long he’d lain in the dark, thinking, when he’d heard a noise in the living room. He’d slipped out from under the covers to investigate, and found Jace on the balcony, staring out over the river. Magnus had stood in the open doorway, unsure of what to say. Unsure if his presence, or his words, were welcome. Unable to leave all the same.

“I don’t blame him, you know.” Jace had said after a while. His breath had formed white clouds in the night air.

Magnus had let those words settle around them, unsure how to respond. He hadn’t thought Jace blamed Alec for Clary’s death. Had he?

“We’re nephilim.” Jace had continued softly. “We fight, and if we are lucky, we die a good death. Protecting others. Following the mission. Fulfilling the will of the Angel. It’s a good life. It’s what we were made for. How many people in the world can say that they know their exact purpose? It’s something to be grateful for. For a long time it was all I had. She taught me there was more to life than that.”

Jace had turned around then, and Magnus had seen the dried tears on his cheeks, and still hadn’t found any words to offer in response. Jace after a moment had looked back at the river.

Magnus can’t remember how long they had stood there, in the middle of the night, looking at the lights of the Brooklyn Bridge, the reflections on the river, the few stars that were visible. It hadn’t been a comfortable silence exactly, both lost in their own thoughts but aware of the weight of the moment. And then Jace had sighed and pushed himself up from the balcony wall and turned to go back inside, pausing when he drew level with Magnus.

“I don’t blame him for Clary’s death.” Jace had repeated, looking Magnus straight in the eye. Jace’s breath had caught before Clary’s name, but his eyes never wavered, and Magnus had looked back, unblinking and waited.

Jace had dropped his gaze eventually and softly said “I just miss her.” before going back inside and disappearing through the door that led to the spare room.

When Magnus had gone back inside, he’d found Alec awake, looking unsure as to why he’d woken up in an empty bed, and when Magnus had got settled back under the covers and wrapped his arms around Alec, he had felt the tremors running through his body, his chest jerking every time his breath hitched, as he finally allowed himself to cry. He had held Alec until he had fallen back asleep, and wondered if that had been the first time Jace had acknowledged Clary’s death. Had spoken the words aloud. Magnus had brushed a tear from Alec’s face, as another small piece of the parabatai bond slotted into place for him.

Things had got better after that night. They hadn’t ever quite gone back to normal, but Magnus isn’t sure whether he could really have described _normal_ , anyway. But for a while, things were ok. Then they’d fallen apart again. And they fixed them again. And things were good. Eventually. And then they were great.

And then they were over.

He and Alec hadn’t done _everything_ Magnus had wanted them to. They’d never had children. Not as such. They never retired and settled down in a small villa in Greece, as Magnus had sometimes pictured for them, on his more fanciful days. They hadn’t done it all. But then again, Magnus has lived almost 500 years and he still feels there is so much left to do. So much of the world left to see. And everything keeps changing and then it needs visiting and exploring again. A mortal life was never going to be long enough. But does anyone ever really get a chance to do everything they want to do? Magnus and Alec sure had a good run of it.

They’d travelled more than Magnus had thought they ever would, given Alec’s responsibilities. It was Clary’s death, and every bit of sadness Magnus’d had to witness that stemmed from it, that made it possible. One of the nights he’d stayed up late with thoughts of how much he missed her, he’d remembered something that Alec had once mentioned when he spoke of his old tutor. _Hodge used to say_ , Alec told him, _that the battle can never be won. But it must always be fought_. And Magnus had started to wonder if that was really true.

Turned out, even in death, Clary changed lives.

Magnus had started researching how demons entered the world. He’d portalled across half the globe to speak to other warlocks, and get their advice, and, wherever they’d let him, he spoke to groups of shadowhunters at the institutes. For the places that didn’t welcome him, he asked Alec to procure reports on demon sightings. If this had unintentionally given Alec a list of institutes whose attitudes still needed some work, that had just been a bonus.

Magnus had spent months and months going to the Spiral Labyrinth, reading texts that were dusty enough to make him wonder whether maybe warlocks could get ill after all. He’d certainly felt like he had developed permanent asthma in his second year of research. And then one morning, he’d been about to leave the loft to go to Belize, a portal half in existence in front of him, when he’d frozen, hands stopping in mid-air, and he’d looked at the gap in the fabric of space, and thought _maybe all you need to do, is reverse it_. Close the gap, rather than open it. He’d let the portal disappear, but rather than simply walking away and stopping the stream of magic _creating_ it, he’d let it dissipate slowly and focused on how exactly it felt. It had been the beginning of his work on a new spell that would change shadowhunter lives across the world. That would save so many of them.

Magnus hadn’t been fast enough to save Jace.

There was so much death that came with being a shadowhunter and they all knew it. Shadowhunters and their loved ones alike. But losing Jace, only three years after they’d lost Clary, had been brutal. And Magnus’ spell was going to change _everything_. Eventually. But it hadn’t been ready. He hadn’t been fast enough, clever enough, good enough.

He’d always assumed he’d be Alec’s rock, when he lost Jace. Never even entertained the notion that it could have gone the other way around. He had been Alec’s anchor so many times through their relationship. Any time Jace had gone on extended missions by himself, because Alec was needed back at the institute. Gone for weeks and unable to contact any of them, and all Alec had had to hold onto was the reassurance that he would _know_. People like saying this to make themselves feel better. _No news is good news_ and _what if-- don’t think like that! You would_ know _if something had happened_. But for Alec this had genuinely been true. So all he’d been able to do was wait. And Magnus had waited with him. Comforted him when his worries got the better of him. Distracted him when he’d let himself be distracted. And if not, he had sat in silence with him, and tried hard not to think of it as a vigil.

Magnus had assumed it would be like this, but tenfold. And he’d thought he was ready. As ready as you could ever be. But god, he hadn’t been.

He hadn’t been ready for the guilt and the self-loathing. He hadn’t been ready for the dozens and dozens of Shadowhunters that had come to Jace’s ceremony, including the ones travelling in from other institutes. He hadn’t been ready to hear Alexander’s voice. Clear and steady. A leader through and through. But so broken sounding when he’d called out Jace’s name. Jace Herondale Lightwood. Magnus definitely hadn’t been ready for that, and neither had Isabelle, who’d gasped, and hid her face in Simon’s shoulder as she’d sobbed. Hail and farewell.

The fact that Magnus and Simon had been allowed to attend the ceremony at all was proof of how far they had come already, and Magnus had tried not to think it, because it’d made his skin crawl with shame, but maybe if they hadn’t, he could have blamed the Clave for his non-attendance, could have ranted and raved about the injustice of it all, could have drunk his anger away and with it his self-hatred. And he wouldn’t have been standing there, holding Alec’s hand and at the same time feeling like he was standing by himself, forlorn in a sea of shadowhunters, making polite conversation, while having to avoid the eye of every person in this room, because if Magnus had just been a little bit better, maybe Jace would’ve still been with them.

They hadn’t spent many nights apart after it happened, but they also hadn’t spent many hours of the night asleep. Alec’d had so much to do at the institute that he’d spent multiple nights there, rather than coming home, and Magnus had made sure he was there for him, even if he’d tried to keep himself busy during the day. At night, they’d sat up and talked and Magnus had put all his focus on Alec, because it had been so much easier than anything else. Alec would always end up with his head on Magnus’ chest, speaking to his collar bone and Magnus had let him, understanding the need to avoid eye contact.

On the nights Alec had gotten back to their loft late, and Magnus hadn’t been with him during the day, Magnus had waited up for him. Ready to conjure him food or a drink or anything else he could be wanting. And Alec had declined politely and asked him to just sit with him. So they’d sat in silence, huddled together under the moth eaten blanket that Alec had picked up years before and refused to let Magnus throw away. The blanket that didn’t match anything in the loft. The blanket that Magnus had secretly loved. Those nights had been hard, because the silence hadn’t left Magnus anywhere to hide in his own head. But he’d hoped they’d helped Alec, as Magnus had run his fingers through Alec’s hair and Alec had held on to Magnus’ wrist, until his head tipped from Magnus’ shoulder, to his chest and Magnus had adjusted the incline of the back of the sofa with a touch of magic, so they could doze.

Magnus had assumed the night after Jace’s funeral would be like that, but worse, and he hadn’t been sure how he would make it through, determined he would, somehow. When they’d stepped out of the portal into their living room, Magnus’ gaze had lingered as the portal winked out of existence – _not fast enough, not clever enough, not good enough_ – Alec had put a hand on Magnus’ shoulder and gently turned him around to face him, looking at him silently. Magnus hadn’t been able to help but flick his eyes across Alec’s face. The slope of his nose, the dried tears, his cracked lips. Further down, the collar of his jacket, stained with Izzy’s mascara, the slump to his broad shoulders, the - - Alec had cradled his face in both hands, and Magnus had met his eyes for what felt like the first time in days, and Alec had smiled a sad smile and kissed him, slow and careful.

“I don’t blame you.” He’d whispered.

As he had years before, Magnus had found himself lost for words. Desperately wanting to explain all the ways in which Alec should blame him, but the simplicity of Alec’s statement hadn’t given Magnus any edges or cracks to dig his fingers into, start pulling at, tear it apart. It had been compact, smooth, simple, and hard to hear in spite of that.

Alec had run his hand over Magnus’ cheek, down his neck, over his shoulder and along his arm before taking his hand and leading him through to their bedroom. They’d undressed separately, standing a short distance apart, but never quite lost that eye contact they had only just found again. Magnus had realised how much not having it had hurt him. Wondered if he’d done it to himself on purpose, and despised having done it to Alec unintentionally in the process.

They’d got under the covers and met in the middle of the bed and Alec had kissed him, saying “I don’t blame you” again, before covering Magnus’ body with his own. They’d made love slowly that night and Magnus had cried at how gently Alec had treated his body, when what he’d wanted were bruises and bites. Any time he’d tried to speed up their love making, tried to flip them over, tried to goad Alec into pinning Magnus’ wrists down at least, Alec had placed a soft kiss on the blue veins under the thin skin there, placed Magnus’ hand back on the pillow and said “I don’t blame you” and Magnus’ breath had hitched on a sob on the next thrust and he’d slowly started to believe it might be true.

When they’d lain there after they’d finished, Magnus had cradled Alec close to him, pillowing Alec’s head on his chest, and realised that Alec had been listening to Magnus’ heartbeat all those times, as he’d caught him tapping out the rhythm with the fingers wrapped around Magnus’ upper arm.

Magnus had wondered what it must feel like, to suddenly only be aware of one heartbeat, when for so much of your life, you’d been aware of two. And he’d pulled Alec closer against his chest, keeping his breathing steady and trying not to rustle the bedding, so Alec could focus on the rhythm of his heart.

“I don’t blame you.” Alec had said.

 _I just miss him_ , Magnus had heard.

The fight was never over. Especially when you loved a Shadowhunter. Simon and Magnus both knew this only too well and yet he doubts Simon regrets any of his choices. Magnus knows he doesn’t regret any of his own.

Alec and Magnus had both focused on work, on each other, on their friends. Loss has a way of tearing you apart, but it also bonds you closer together. Simon had spent as much of his free time as he possibly could at Isabelle’s side, and she’d complained, told him she didn’t need a baby sitter, told him she could look after herself, told him she was fine. Then took his hand and pulled him back, when he’d tried to leave. Bumped her shoulder against his and told him that it was time for her patrol, and asked whether he wanted to come with. So Simon had gone.

Magnus had found himself moving a lot of his research to a quiet corner of the institute, comforted by simply being in the same building as Alec, even if they’d  both been busy working on their own projects and hadn’t seen each other until the end of the day. 

Magnus had finalised the spell to close the gaps demons used to slip through into their world 9 months after Jace’s death. Madzie had developed a particular talent for sending her magic out to test the air, finding them in a way that Magnus could recreate but wasn’t as skilled at. She’d grown into a powerful young woman and they’d made an imposing pair, portalling through the city, Madzie walking ahead, leading them to the right places and Magnus working his magic to close the gaps one by one.

They hadn’t known what had created the gaps and they’d had to assume they would reopen over time, but the significant drop in demon sightings proved that they were on to something and Alec had gotten permission for the three of them to visit institutes all over the world, to meet with the warlocks employed by shadowhunters in every city, teach them the necessary skills and use the shadowhunters intel, to help narrow down the areas to start looking for the gaps. It had taken a bit of time to organise the leadership of the institute for the times Alec had been absent, but he’d known that between Isabelle and Simon, New York would be in good hands.

So they’d travelled, Alec, Magnus and Madzie. Saw more of the world than Magnus had ever thought they would be allowed to see together. While most of their time had been spent inside institutes or visiting the homes of warlocks, they’d always found time to slip away, explore the cities, enjoy the local food, visit friends Magnus had made over the centuries in all corners of the world. And Madzie had become very attuned not just to sensing the gaps in the world, but also to knowing when to make herself scarce. It had been a good time in their life. And every time they’d gone back home, the New York institute had changed, just a little.

Isabelle had explained to them, that there had been such a drastic drop in demon activity that some of the shadowhunters had decided to pay more attention to downworlder conflict. Shadowhunters had always had a tendency to get themselves involved in downworld affairs, thinking they were superior in many ways, most of all their law. And Isabelle had put a quick stop to it all, with a few choice punishments and exiles for the culprits she’d decided weren’t worth trying to redeem. They had all learnt which battles were worth fighting.

So Magnus and Alec had revisited the places they had already been to, spread the word on what to expect when demon activity dropped and an entire species bred to fight suddenly found themselves idle. They’d explained what signs to look out for, what couldn’t be ignored, what decisions and laws had helped in New York, and between them, they’d realised the thing that actually needed to change was the understanding of shadowhunters. They hadn’t been made to fight. Fighting was simply the tool they used. Their original purpose was to _protect_.

They’d returned to New York brimming with excitement over this new understanding of the Nephilim race. Knowing where to start making real changes, finally. In the history shadowhunters were taught, in the training they received, in the stories they would tell each other in hushed whispers. It wasn’t about the glory in battle, the numbers of demon kills you achieved before you turned twenty, or the satisfaction of dying a shared death. It was about how many people you managed to save.

It was so simple when you stopped to think about it.

So of course when they had arrived back at the New York institute after 6 months of travelling, they had found the ops centre filled with shadowhunters, as well as young werewolves and vampires. Some of them had been curiously watching shadowhunters operate and explain the instruments that showed any remaining demon activity in the city, heat maps of where werewolf packs lived and grey markers for known vampire dens. Others had been standing close together in small groups, looking uncertain, but not scared, Magnus had noted. And a couple of them had been lounging on chairs or sitting on tables, swinging their legs as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Alec had told Magnus later how much they had reminded him of Jace when he first arrived with the Lightwoods. All bravado and arrogance, hiding so much uncertainty over who he was and what the future would hold for him.

Magnus and Alec had looked at each other, unsure where to even start asking questions, when Simon had spotted them, jogging over from where he’d been showing a young female vampire towards the institute kitchen.

“You’re back!” he’d called out, hugging  them both with great enthusiasm.

Simon had ushered them into Isabelle’s office – _my office, thank you very much_ , Alec had corrected with an unimpressed look – and Isabelle had explained, that she had reached the same conclusion Alec and Magnus had come to on their travels. That you couldn’t just leave shadowhunters to it, without a purpose, and they still needed to be trained, still needed to be able to fight, still needed to be ready, because demons were still around, still breeding and would find new ways of entering the world, they were all sure of that. This was a moment to reassess their battle strategy, not the end of the war.

So Simon and Isabelle had taken it upon themselves to refocus their mission. Help and teach young downworlders how to deal with the life they had been thrust into, almost always violently and often against their will. Invented cover stories for the mundane lives they left behind, or taught them strategies that would allow them to reintegrate into their former lives while dealing with their new circumstances. They had been in the process of discussing ways of setting up counselling that specialised in the trauma inflicted on young warlocks, rejected by their mothers, and Alec had reached for Magnus’ hand and Magnus had squeezed it so hard he could feel the bones shift under the skin, as he’d said “I’d like to be involved with that.” and Isabelle had smiled, because she had known he’d want to.

So they didn’t have children. Or alternatively, they had dozens and dozens of them. Some of them were only in their lives for a short while, needing less help than others. Many stayed in touch with one or both of them, came to visit every now and again. Most of them still sent them good wishes on their birthdays, fire messages or old fashioned letters and postcards. The occasional email. Magnus had made sure to give a different date of birth every time he was asked, making sure he would receive cards throughout the entire year and Alec had thrown them on his lap with an exasperated eye roll every time he was the one to bring the mundane mail in and came across one.

For over ten years, it had kept them busy and it had kept them sane. But they had all known that the demons wouldn’t simply disappear. Patrols had still been necessary. They’d still had to fight. And Isabelle had simply refused to be left off the rota, no matter what anyone said.

The funeral had been for Isabelle’s family and closest friends only, because there hadn’t been any way to accommodate the number of people whose life she had touched, even in the biggest room of the institute. However that hadn’t stopped werewolves, seelies and warlocks from standing in the institute grounds, under a single glamour. At dusk, they had been joined by a group of vampires, some of them holding candles, and Alec had watched from the window for a long time, Magnus’ arms wrapped around him, smiling through his tears.

They hadn’t done it all. But they’d had more than most.

Recalling Hodge’s words on how the battle must always be fought, but could never be won, Magnus thinks that maybe for someone immortal, relationships work the same way. He’d tried to close himself off from love after what Camille had done to him. He’d thought that if he stopped allowing people in, he wouldn’t allow himself to be hurt. He hadn’t realised that he also wouldn’t allow himself to be healed. Allowing Alec to love him had brought the risk of new pain, Magnus had known that. What he’d needed Alec to show him was that it also healed old pain.

He’d loved Alec until the day he died. He loves him still. He thinks about the time they spent together. Less time than they’d needed, more time than he’d ever thought they would get, and really, would there ever have been enough time? He doesn’t think hundreds of years would have been enough. But maybe if Alec had had centuries ahead of him, he wouldn’t have fought so hard for the things he felt he needed to achieve in his lifetime. Magnus thinks of the sacrifices they’d made, the compromises they’d found, the people they’d helped. The love they’d shared, with each other, and with others.

So in the end, his answer to Simon is very simple.

“Alec only ever wanted me to be happy.”

Simon runs his finger around the rim of his wine glass, lost in thought and Magnus knows he’s thinking of Isabelle. Magnus loved Isabelle. He doesn’t know how much of it is simply for who she was. Independent. Fierce. Revolutionary in her thinking about downworlders at a time when it was unthinkable to be so. He knows he owes a lot of the acceptance he gained in the New York institute to Isabelle, not just to Alec. He wonders how much of his love for Isabelle is wrapped up in how much she loved Alec. How much Alec loved her. Ultimately he knows it doesn’t really matter. He likes being able to quantify things but he learnt long ago that love doesn’t work that way.

“Are you?” Simon asks and he sounds genuinely curious.

Magnus’ tilts his glass back and forth, gently swirling the end of his drink around and watching the light skitter across the rim of the glass and catch on his rings.

“I know I will be again.” He says, and finishes his drink.

Maybe he’ll ask Claire to make his next martini with vodka.

Who knows what the future will bring?

**Author's Note:**

> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> This story is set 30 years after Alec's death. Almost 50 years after Izzy's death.  
> It talks about death more than had been the original intention. But it isn't angst, as such.  
> It's about exploring loss, and grief and the ways in which people you let into your life change who you are.  
> I hope.
> 
> The title is borrowed from Scheherazade by Richard Siken.  
> Thank you to Ruth for the beta job and patience.


End file.
